


Let Us Drink From Joyful Cups

by wine_dark_seashells



Series: Elves. No, not Christmas ones. Fae. [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Gen, and it's so fae, if they're wearing a mask they're fae, so it's like a HUGE market, with dancing and music and quite a bit of drink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23257816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wine_dark_seashells/pseuds/wine_dark_seashells
Summary: Every six months, the Bazaar is held. Every six months, the fae folk come out of the woods to dance. One solitary court, made of those who are Lost and have been Found, takes its younglings and trainees out to the markets to have a night of fun.Veil is in charge of them. He'll make sure they aren't Lost again.Poor Veil. They're all insufferable.
Relationships: nope
Series: Elves. No, not Christmas ones. Fae. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672303
Kudos: 1





	Let Us Drink From Joyful Cups

**Author's Note:**

> Hi peeps!  
> this is possibly gonna be a series. i don't think it'll have an overarching plot, but let me know if you would like to see it!  
> it's not _extremely_ fae as of yet, but it'll get there.

Plans had been made, younglings informed.

The Bazaar was being held for one night and one night only.

Masks had been chosen, outfits made.

For tonight.

  


* * *

  


Let Us Drink From The Joyful Cups

  


The crowd roared and the music danced. Bright torches, held high, threw golden light onto a sea of revelers. 

  


Wiccans and warlocks offered potions and spells, drawing sparks of light in the air. A siren wearing a muzzle (purely to reassure passers-by that she wouldn’t suddenly start singing) displayed feather charms and arrows. A huddle of fae ogled the enchanted smoking-pipes, and several pixies darted overhead, throwing streamers and confetti over the parade of folk.

  


The air was filled with laughter, music and sweet-smelling smoke. If a human had accidentally come across the Bazaar, they would probably have had a heart attack at the sheer number of fae folk who had come out of the woods.

  


A lithe figure wearing a white cat mask leapt onto the shoulders of a burly dryad. His name was Veil, and his face was covered by a blank wooden visor. Cat laughed, twisting gracefully out of reach as Veil grabbed for their white cloak. The pristine fabric was splattered with ash and golden glitter.

  


Veil shouted after Cat as they flitted through the crushing mass of folk at the Bazaar. A third person, a woman whose face was hidden beneath a detailed gold helmet, laughed and clapped Veil on the shoulder.

“Let them run!” she cried. “We’ll have to be back soon anyway. Let them have their freedom for now!”

  


When Veil only grunted and growled, she laughed again at him, turning, toasting the Bazaar with a bone goblet. Spinning her double bladed battle axe in her hand, she muscled her way into the crowd and was gone. Moments later she reappeared, haggling with a naiad over a waterproof cloak.

  


Veil cursed. Then he sighed resignedly. He cupped his hands around the slit in his mask and shouted, “Clover! Canyon!”

  


Grey mist pooled around his feet, rising steadily to cover him. As it reached over his head, the world fell silent. The quiet was deafening after the resounding music and laughter of the Bazaar. Veil stared into the dull grayness, laced with glittering streaks. A hand tapped his shoulder and Veil whirled around, fists raised.

  


The boy backed away, hands held in surrender. He was draped in robes of the same colour as the mist, making him almost invisible. A hood of the same colour was drawn over a mask shaped like a skull. It might have been a real skull.

  


“You called?” murmured Clover.

  


Veil crossed his massive arms over his armoured chest. “Where’s Canyon?”

  


Clover dropped his hands. “She’s busy,” he said softly.

  


“How long till sunrise?”

  


Clover swirled his hands in the mist, thinking. “About three hours, I should think,” he hummed. “Give or take a few.”

  


Veil nodded to himself. “Thank you.”

  


Clover dipped his head in response and the mist began to disperse, taking him with it. As the last dregs faded, he called, “Get Cat to bring me back a Talisman!”

  


Veil nodded again, stumbling as Cat reappeared to grab his arm, sloshing the red contents of a bone chalice over the cobblestones. Their cloak was stained with some kind of purple dust, likely from the glitter bombs being tossed around further down the Bazaar.

  


“Come on!” they whined. “If we want to see the whole Bazaar we have to dodge the crowd!”

  


Patting their hand consolingly, Veil pulled his dark brown cloak more securely around his shoulders, making sure it was properly attached to his pauldrons. Cat tugged on his hand, eyes gleaming through the eye holes in their mask. Veil flicked a whisker in response, then acquiesced and let them tug him into the shadows at the edge of the Bazaar.

  


The two of them melted into the dark, away from the clamour, as the torch flames twisted into the sky and the crown wandered on.


End file.
